


Fictober 2019

by isthisenoughorcanwegohigher



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Magicians (TV), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Fictober 2019, Other, fictober '19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 12,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthisenoughorcanwegohigher/pseuds/isthisenoughorcanwegohigher
Summary: Welcome to my collection of stories for fictober 2019!





	1. "It will be fun, trust me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was Halloween in the Glade, Thomas was screaming, and it was Minho’s fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of spiders, spider-like gif added at the end

Minho had an idea, and he was going to make it everyone’s problem. The idea occurred to him over dinner a week before the end of October, and he knew that if he bribed Gally, it would come to fruition. The perfect Halloween prank.

“Hey, Gally!” Minho motioned Gally over to the table. 

The Builder sat down with a scowl. “What d’ya want, Minho?”

“I have an idea.”

“No.”

“Gally,” Minho whined, “you haven’t even heard the idea yet!  **It will be fun, trust me.** ”

Gally scoffed. “The answer is still no. I’m not helping you with whatever stupid plan you’ve come up with this time. Alby nearly banished us last time, or have you forgotten?”

“I haven’t forgotten.” Minho rolled his eyes. “Besides, you’re exaggerating. He didn’t want to banish us, Alby was just furious.”

“I’m still not helping.”

“What if I told you that this would be something that scared Thomas?”

There was a moment of silence in which Gally considered this, and then his scowl morphed into a mischievous grin. “What do you have in mind?”

The only serious problem over the next seven days that Gally faced was getting the Glade dog, Bark, to cooperate. He learned very quickly that dogs didn’t like to sit still for very long, especially not when you were trying to outfit them with intricate moving parts. It would all be worth it, though, to scare Thomas on Halloween, and that’s what kept Gally going through the week.

Halloween morning dawned, foggy and dim, and it was perfect. Minho and Thomas and the other Runners disappeared into the Maze, leaving Gally to set up Minho’s idea.

“Hey, Newt, I need your help.” Gally approached Newt in the gardens, where the second in command was busy harvesting corn for dinner that night.

“What’s broken this time?” Newt asked, setting his basket down with a sigh.

Gally put a hand over his heart. “Nothing is broken,” he said, “but I need you to hold Bark still for me.”

Newt blinked.

“Listen, it’s Minho’s idea okay, I just need your help.”

“Of course.” Newt sighed. “What do you need Bark for, though?”

Gally smirked. “Come on, help me and you’ll see.”

Minho’s idea, as it turned out, was to have Gally design a costume for Bark, modeled after the Grievers that ran wild in the Maze.

“Jesus,” Newt said, upon seeing the assembled pieces, flinching away from it. “Is it  _ supposed  _ to look like a baby Griever sent to murder us?”

“Yeah,” Gally snickered. “Apparently Thomas is terrified of spiders, and the Grievers are mechanical spiders, right? So we unleash Bark when the Runners get back, and terrorize Thomas.”

Newt was silent for a long moment. “Did you have to make it look so realistic?” he asked finally, frowning when Bark bumped up against his leg, sniffing for attention.

Gally only nodded.

“I don’t condone this,” Newt said.

“But you aren’t condemning it, either.”

“No.”

“Excellent.” Gally rubbed his hands together.

The sun was just beginning to set when the Runners came back, sweaty and exhausted from their day of exploring the Maze.

Gally watched them return with a devilish grin on his face. He made eye contact with Minho as they jogged to the Map Room, nodding. As discussed, Bark was waiting in full costume in the Map Room.

Soon, Thomas’s screams rent the air. He sprinted out of the Map Room, face alight with terror, followed closely by a very eager Bark in a fully animated Griever costume.

Minho was leaning against the Map Room, in tears and wheezing with laughter.

Thomas was running as fast as he could while screaming until he tripped and sprawled out on the dirt. He rolled onto his back and watched, terrified, as Bark descended on him and started licking him.


	2. “Just follow me, I know the area.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice decided to dabble with time magic. She’d done it as a niffin, and it shouldn’t be any different when she wasn’t one. If Jane Chatwin had managed, then so could she, and she would reverse what Quentin had done.

Alice knew more about the Mirrorworld than anyone, and it was scary to see the look of intense delight on her face. Scary because it was familiar, and Quentin could almost see the blue sparks glinting around her face, along her jawline and cheekbones, and scary because she was trying to hide it. Trying to hide that she remembered being a niffin, and remembered being here, and remembered enjoying it. But she could never hide from Quentin, just like he could never hide from her.

“You’re nervous.” It wasn’t a question. She knew. Of course she knew.

“I’m trying not to be,” Quentin said, shuddering and sticking his hands in his pockets. The familiar weight of his magic coin calmed him slightly. He felt the tension leave his shoulders.

“Good,” Alice said. “Being nervous leaves more room for error, and there’s no room for error here. One wrong spell and we could dissolve into a million particles, never to be seen again.”

“Sounds lovely.” It didn’t sound lovely, but the way Alice described it made Quentin think she’d seen it happen to one or two unlucky souls who stumbled into this world.

There was an odd silence before Alice said, “ **Just follow me, I know the area. ** We’ll get rid of the Monsters and get out of here, no trouble.”

“You say that like you’ve seen this before.” It was an idle observation, and Quentin certainly didn’t mean anything serious by it. But Alice’s hand jumped to her throat, where she wore a silver chain that he thought he’d heard ticking. “Alice?”

“It’s nothing,” she tried to reassure him. “But if something doesn’t go as planned….” She pulled a pocket-watch out from beneath her top. “We can try again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might make this a full-fledged idea later because I love exploring Alice's character tbh.


	3. “Now? Now you listen to me?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started with an itch. An uncontrollable itch that went deep into his bones. He scratched as hard as he could, but he couldn’t make this go away. He couldn’t make it hurt any less.

“This might have been a bad idea,” Thomas said, ducking down behind the rock. He and Newt were currently pinned in the middle of the mountains, taking heavy fire from WCKD guards outside the second desert compound the Right Arm had raided in three weeks.

“Gee, you think?” Newt hissed, sticking his head over the rock for a moment, eyes blazing as he calculated the distance from himself to the nearest guard through the scope of his rifle. “I swear, Thomas, your half-baked plans are going to get us killed one day. There’s too many of them. We need to get out of here.”

“Frypan is still in there,” Thomas whispered, rocking back on his heels. “Brenda and Vince, too. We can’t just leave them, man.”

“They know the plan,” Newt argued. “We, on the other hand, are going to get our asses handed to us if we don’t get out now.”

Thomas muttered something under his breath and leaned forward over the rock again. Newt yanked him down by the collar of his shirt.

“Newt!” Thomas complained, rubbing at his neck.

“Do you want to get shot?”

“No,” Thomas sighed. “You’re right. We should get out of here. They’ll get out.” He said this nervously, like leaving his friends behind was the worst thing he could think of doing, but he recognized that there was no way they were going to make it into the compound to help when they were as pinned down as they were.

“Seriously?  **Now?”** Newt demanded as harshly as he could while whispering. “ **Now you listen to me?** ”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Thomas snapped back.

Newt groaned and dragged a hand over his face, fighting the urge to shake some sense into Thomas. Now was not the time. He absentmindedly scratched at his right forearm, making a mental note to have Brenda look at it when they were back at camp. “Nothing,” he said. “Let’s just get out of here, yeah?”

Thomas nodded, bit his lip, and then stood up, ducking when the WCKD guards took notice and opened fire. “Run!”

“No shit, Tommy,” Newt muttered, abandoning his efforts to remove a layer of skin from his arm in favor of following Thomas up the hill. Maybe Brenda could tell him why the itching only got worse when he fought back his anger. Surely there had to be a connection. Either that, or he only noticed the itching when he got angry. Maybe he was being paranoid. He hoped he was just being paranoid.


	4. “I know you didn’t ask for this.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Hermione was 11 years old, she found out she was a witch, and she thought that it would change everything. When it didn’t change anything, she thought she was the luckiest girl in the world to have the two best friends anyone could ask for. But she didn’t ask for any of what came with it.

He could hear Hermione sniffling outside the tent, and he could picture her wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater as she tried to ignore the tears dripping onto the page of whatever book she had on hand.

Harry sighed. This wasn’t at all what he’d planned when Hagrid had whisked him away from the Dursleys sixteen years ago and shown him the doorway to a world he’d never known existed. He’d wanted friends and excitement and magic, sure, but he never asked to be a hero for a world he’d just been introduced to. He never asked to be shouldered with the fate of an entire society, never asked to be responsible for the fates of hundreds of thousands of people he’d never met and would probably never meet. All he wanted was the family that was taken from him, and by God, he’d found it. He could only wonder how Hermione felt. Especially given the depth of her feelings for Ron. Harry would never have said, but he knew how the two of them felt. He sighed again, stood, and pushed the flap of the tent open, joining Hermione on the rocky ground.

Hermione hiccoughed and turned her face away from him, brushing a strand of hair over her cheek so he couldn’t see the tears drying on her face.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. “Really.  **I know you didn’t ask for this. ** For any of this. I can’t imagine how different this must be from what you planned when you found out you could do magic.”

Hermione gave him a quick, confused glance, but remained silent.

“I know when I found out….” Harry trailed off, staring out at the horizon. “I just wanted to get away from the Dursleys. I was running away from everything I’d known, because it had never been right, and I thought this would feel right. Thought I could create everything I’d been missing out of nothing, but nothing ever works out the way you want it to.”

“No,” Hermione spoke softly, “no, it doesn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said again.

Hermione waved a hand at him. “I was going to talk to McGonagall about graduating early and going to whatever the wizarding equivalent of university is, and despite what I told Scrimgeour, I was going to work with the Ministry and develop a program to introduce Muggleborns into the wizarding world sooner, and vice versa.”

“That’s a pretty neat idea.” Harry watched Hermione carefully.

“Yeah, it is.” Hermione giggled softly. “But now I won’t even graduate on time, if I graduate at all! And there’s certainly no point in working in a government that’s as corrupt as ours is.” She was full blown laughing now. It had a hysterical edge to it. “I don’t even know if we’re going to survive this! But you know what? None of that matters any more!”

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, alarmed.

Hermione nodded, still laughing. “Best laid plans,” she said when she could catch her breath. “They always go astray, don’t they?”


	5. “I might just kiss you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nico saves the day and briefly experiences gay panic before he remembers that Percy is, rather unfortunately, dating Annabeth.

Percy groaned and swung Riptide through the air again, hardly caring as it struck home, knocking yet another head off yet another zombie.

“This is ridiculous!” Annabeth shouted from behind him, struggling to be heard over the cacophony of moaning and grunting.

“You’re telling me,” Percy called back. “When did we get evil zombies?”

“I lost track somewhere between ghouls and sirens!”

“Fair enough!”

The two stood back to back for a moment longer, swords and knives clashing with rotting flesh and dripping saliva.

“We need to find a way out,” Annabeth admitted. “There’s too many of them!”

Percy was about to respond when the ground began to shake. A crack appeared in the earth in front of him, and he took a cautious step back. He’d seen this happen before. They both had. Sure enough, the crack spread and grew, and it swallowed the remaining horde whole, returning them to their final resting place.

“Oh, thank the gods,” Annabeth muttered, stowing her knife and wiping the sweat from her brow. “Hey, Nico.”

“Hey, guys.” Nico appeared out of the shadows of the trees, wiping his slightly shaking hands on his thighs. “How’s it going?”

“Well, if it escaped your notice, we were almost lunch.” Annabeth shot the son of Hades a wry grin. “Thanks for the rescue.”

Nico waved a hand. “It’s no trouble.”

“ **I might just kiss you,** ” Percy said hoarsely. “That was perfect timing, man.”

“Really, it’s no trouble,” Nico said, his face turning a deep pink. “Don’t mention it.”

Percy nodded weakly. “Do you think that was the last of the tests? This whole alphabet of monsters is starting to make me question my commitment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I haven't written for PJO in a *while*. This was short and dumb but fun!


	6. “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Thomas know each other very vaguely. They've had a few classes together, but their paths only really cross when Minho insists the three of them hang out. Minho is also the only one who knows their deepest secret--the two of them are infatuated with each other. Seeing that neither are willing to be honest, Minho takes matters into his own hands and sets the two up on a date.

“This is a terrible idea,” Newt groaned. He ran a hand through his hair and stared hard at his reflection in the window, fixing his scarf and beanie before turning to face Minho. “I can’t do this.”

“It’s one blind date!” Minho said, trying to hide his grin behind his gloved hands. “I promise, just go in there and meet the guy. It’ll be fine.”

“Minho,” Newt whined. “I don’t have time for this. I’m tired, I’m cold, and I have finals to study for, not to mention booking a flight home for the holidays.”

“ **Yes, I’m aware. ** We all do.  **Your point?** ” Minho reached out and tugged Newt’s beanie a little more to one side, now openly grinning. “Just trust me. Besides, going in there will solve at least one of those problems. Maybe two. Caffeine works wonders, you know.”

“Yeah, on my heart rate, not my energy levels,” Newt muttered.

“It’ll warm you up!”

Newt had to admit, a warm cup of coffee did sound fantastic at the moment. He could practically feel the heat radiating from the styrofoam already. All he had to do to get it was meet the guy Minho had set him up with, and Minho was conveniently not saying anything about who he was.

“Come on, Newt, please? I promised him you’d be there five minutes ago.” Minho dragged out the please, pouting at the blond.

“If this goes south, I’m going to kill you,” Newt said.

“You want to do that anyways.”

Newt grumbled. “So?”

“Just go!” Minho rolled his eyes, grabbed Newt by the shoulders, and frog-marched him to the doors of the store. “You can tell me how it goes later.”

Before Newt could protest further, Minho had opened the door and shoved him inside, leaving him stranded on the welcome mat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess today it's been ten years since The Maze Runner was originally published. Happy birthday TMR!


	7. “No, and that’s final.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver was determined to do anything it took to get Harry's new Firebolt back.

“Professor!” Oliver called, spotting Minerva McGonagall going past him up the stairs. “Professor, do you have a minute?”

Minerva turned wearily to face Oliver. “What do you need, Wood?”

“Listen, Professor, I heard that you took Potter’s new bro--”

“Yes, and it will be returned to him post haste, as soon as it’s been checked for enchantments and thoroughly stripped,” Minerva said.

Oliver paled. “Stripped?” he asked, horrified.

“Yes, Wood, stripped,” Minerva confirmed. “Now hurry along, you have classes to attend.” She swept away, leaving a stricken Oliver behind.

Minerva got quite good at avoiding Oliver the next few weeks, despite how many times and how many creative ways he cornered her. Eventually, though, she grew tired of counting how many classrooms she would pass before Oliver popped out of one of them.

“The answer is  ** _no_ ** **, and that’s final, ** Wood,” she snapped at him after Transfiguration one day, much to the amusement of his friends.

Oliver took it in stride and pulled back the parchment he was handing her. “Okay, I guess you don’t want my essay, then.”

Minerva pinched the bridge of her nose. “Give me your essay, please, Mr. Wood.”

“Yes, Professor,” Oliver said. “And by the way--”

“Out!”


	8. “Can you stay?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas still struggles, but Minho is always there.

Thomas couldn’t sleep. He spent the night tossing and turning in his hammock, unable to close his eyes for long. Every time they shut, visions of fire dancing in the reflections of broken glass and screams and cries of the injured, the sick, and the dying echoed in his mind. Newt’s last words rattled around his brain, and he could hear the words of the letter as clear as if Newt was just out of sight, reading it to him.

“I just repeat them, over and over, like a prayer….”

Thomas practically threw himself out of his hammock, jamming his hands over his ears like that would keep Newt’s voice out of his head. He snuck through the mess of hammocks and cots and blankets on the ground, weaving his way through the peacefully sleeping people, and made his way to the water’s edge, where the moonlight reflected in the waves and the sound of the ocean drowned out any other thought.

“Can’t sleep?” Minho was already on the beach, toes buried in the cool sand. He looked up when Thomas approached, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“No,” Thomas admitted softly, even though this wasn’t out of the ordinary for the pair.

“Do you want to be alone?” Minho asked.

Thomas nodded. “For now. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Minho stood, brushed himself off, and started walking away, hands in his pockets.

“Wait, no,” Thomas called after him. “Minho?  **Can you stay?** ”

“Of course,” Minho assured, turning and rejoining Thomas on the ground. “Everything okay?”

Thomas shook his head. “No.”

“It will be,” Minho said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It will be.”

They were quiet for a moment, both listening to the waves crash onto the sand.

“Thanks, Minho.”

Minho hummed.

“I just really miss him.”

“I know. I do, too.”


	9. “There is a certain taste to it.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another night, another bonfire, another drink.

Newt sank down next to Thomas, holding out a jar of Gally’s mysterious and famous drink.

“I’m good, thanks,” Thomas muttered, waving it away.

“It’ll help you feel better.”

“Not for long.”

“True,” Newt laughed, “but I’m sure you could do with a little bit of forgetting, just until tomorrow.”

Thomas groaned and accepted the jar from Newt. “By giving me this, you’re agreeing to be responsible for any poor choices I make, just for the record.”

“No, I’m not,” Newt said.

Thomas rolled his eyes and took a swig of the drink, making a face as he swallowed. “This is something.”

“ **There is a certain taste to it,** ” Newt agreed, taking a sip of his own drink. “But it’s not the taste that matters, is it?”

“I suppose not.” Thomas took another drink, making the same face. “Doesn’t stop it from being awful.”

Newt laughed again, his eyes glinting in the firelight. “Don’t let Gally hear you.”


	10. “Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas figured out a way to sustain the tesla flexion and he thinks, if he times it right, he could bring Newt back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of my Magicians AU for The Maze Runner!

“This is going to sound absolutely mad,” Thomas started.

“Oh, good, I love the plan already.” Minho rolled his eyes and set his cup down in the grass next to him.

“Shut up,” Thomas said.

“Haven’t all of your plans been absolutely mad?” Gally sat up, opening his eyes and stretching. “I mean, I’m just saying--going into the Maze at night, going into the Hole, running out into the desert….”

“I get it, I get it,” Thomas muttered. “But listen, this we could actually pull off without anyone dying, okay?”

“Oh, that’s a change,” Gally mused.

“Shut up!” Thomas snapped.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Gally responded immediately, chagrined. “I’m sorry.”

All three of them knew that Newt’s death was still a sore spot with Thomas, especially after Brenda’s idea to use the tesla flexion for Thomas to say goodbye. They were silent for a moment before Gally spoke again.

“What’s your idea?”

“I-- **listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me, ** but I think I found a way to make the tesla flexion last long enough to bring Newt through.”

“You what?” Minho asked, eyes going wide.

“You’re not serious.” Gally was staring at Thomas. “That’s not possible, the tesla flexion isn’t supposed to last that long.”

“Like I said, you’ll just have to trust me on this, but I think we can do it.”

“How?” Gally wondered.

“One of us goes through,” Thomas answered.

“Thomas, that’s suicide,” Minho gasped. “You’d be stuck in that timeline!”

“No,” Thomas responded. “Not if we time it right.”

“How long?” Gally’s eyes were alight with curiosity.

“One hour. You wait one hour for me, and then open it back up again, and with or without Newt, I come back through.”

“No,” Minho said. “No, absolutely not, it’s too dangerous. Too much could go wrong!”

“It could work, though,” Gally said.

“It’s not going to happen,” Minho insisted. “I’m sorry, Thomas, but no.”

“I’m sorry then, too, Minho, but if you don’t want to help, Gally and I will find someone who does.”


	11. “It’s not always like this.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice and Julia may not always see eye to eye, but they have more in common than they think.

There was a knock at her apartment door, startling Julia out of the reverie she’d found herself trapped in. Barely taking a moment to glance around, she rose from her position half draped over the back of the couch and went to open the door. She hoped whoever was knocking would be easily shooed away. Julia was in no mood for company.

“How can I help you?” she asked, pulling open the door and searching for the face of the person on the other side.

“I needed somewhere to go,” Alice Quinn answered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and straightening her glasses. “I’m sorry if this is totally inappropriate, but I couldn’t think of anywhere else.”

Julia stared at Alice, blinking.

“Or I can just go,” Alice said, starting to shuffle away. There was something in her eyes, though, that made Julia call out.

“Wait!”

Alice paused at the end of the hallway.

“Alice,” Julia said, motioning to the girl. “Come inside. Please.”

A tentative smile crossed Alice’s face. “Thank you, Julia.”

“You’ll just have to--uh--excuse the mess. I promise  **it’s not always like this.** Things have just been tough since….”

Alice glanced around at the shattered plates in the kitchen, the pile of laundry growing on the floor next to the couch, and the scattered books and pictures frames on the floor. “Since Quentin died,” Alice agreed softly.

“Yeah.”

The two stood in an oddly companionable silence for a moment.

“You loved him,” Julia said, and it wasn’t a question.

“Undeniably,” Alice responded. “So did you.”

“Yes. Maybe not in the way he wanted, once, but he was family. I--” Julia’s voice cracked, and when she clenched her hands, sparks ignited from her fists. “I miss him.”

Alice hummed in agreement. “That’s actually why I’m here.”

“What?” Julia spun to face Alice, and for the first time, noticed the book in her hands.

“I think I found a way to get him back.


	12. “What if I don’t see it?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thestrals can only be seen by those who have seen death. What does this mean for a returning student body who fought in the war?

Ron was, to say the very least, nervous. The last time he’d been at Hogwarts, he’d been caught right in the middle of a war, convinced his best friend had been killed, dead brother, and terrified that everyone else he knew and cared about would be going the exact same way.

But Hermione had convinced Ron and Harry to go back to Hogwarts to complete their seventh year, and so now here they were, the three of them, back for one more adventure in the castle walls they’d grown to call home.

“Maybe this time,” Harry said softly, eyes on the path up from the Hogsmeade train station to where the carriages were waiting, “we won’t have to fight for our lives.”

“We’re going back to school with Draco Malfoy.” Ron matched the quiet attempt at a joke in Harry’s voice. “I’ll bet you five galleons we try to kill each other at least once.”

“How much are you going to bet for more than once?” Harry asked.

Ron laughed louder than he meant to, drawing the attention of the younger students, who stared curiously at the Golden Trio, heroes of the second Wizarding War.

“Will the two of you stop?” Hermione hissed. “You’re drawing attention.”

Ron and Harry rolled their eyes.

“Like I’ve never drawn attention before,” Harry quipped. “I’m only the Boy Who Lived, Hermione.”

“You know what I mean.”

The three of them hesitated only a moment longer before they walked the familiar path to the carriages, an uneasy silence reigning.

“ **What if I don’t see it?** ” Ron asked, very suddenly drawing to a stop.

“See what?” Hermione asked.

“The thestrals,” Ron whispered, looking pale. “What if I don’t see them?”

“Why do you want to see them?” Hermione and Harry asked in unison.

Ron paused, chewing on his lip. “It makes it all real,” he responded. “Seeing them makes what happened in May real. I need it to be real, so I can know that all this hurt hasn’t been for nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another blurb I might expand on at some point!


	13. “I never knew it could be this way.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minho and Thomas are still hurting over Newt.

“I didn’t realize there was this much green in the world,” Minho mused. “Not that I remember much of the world, I guess.”

Thomas hummed in agreement, his eyes on the stars overhead. He and Minho were camping out on the highest point they could reach on the mountains in the Safe Haven, eager for some time alone. There had been precious little of it since they’d left the Last City. They both guessed that their friends were worried about them, what with Newt dying and all.

“I suppose I’m just surprised that we made it this far.”

“You and me both,” Thomas muttered.

“But not all of us made it.”

And there it was. Newt’s death, following the two of them like a stray dog they couldn’t shake. Thomas remained silent.

“ **I never knew it could be this way,** ” Minho said, choosing to take Thomas’s silence as a sign to keep talking. “I never knew it could hurt this much. I mean, when we lost Alby and Chuck and Jeff and Clint and everyone, when we thought Gally was dead, that shit hurt. It hurt a lot. And I should have been used to losing people. We lost people all the time, didn’t we? But losing N--” Minho paused, choking on the name. “Losing him hurts more than anything I could have imagined.”

“I know what you mean,” Thomas agreed. “It’s like this constant, throbbing ache that won’t go away.”

“Yeah.” Minho rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow as he faced Thomas. “Do you think he knows that we miss him?”

“I hope so,” Thomas said. “I hope so.”


	14. “I can’t come back.”

Newt stood in the doorway of Crank Palace, his face in shadows. He watched Thomas and Minho approach him with a scowl on his face.

“Newt!” Thomas called, raising a hand in greeting.

“You need to leave, Tommy,” Newt said, narrowing his eyes.

“Not without you,” Minho responded sharply. “Isn’t that what you said? We don’t leave anyone behind. If it were me, you’d be right here in my place, telling me to come home.”

“I don’t have a home to go back to.”

“Yes, you do,” Minho insisted. “We’re your home.”

“Come back with us, Newt,” Thomas pleaded.

“No!” Newt snapped. “You don’t understand.  **I can’t come back. ** I’m infected, I’m dangerous, I could kill you. You need to go, both of you, now.”

“We aren’t leaving without you, Newt,” Minho insisted. “We can still help you.”

“There is no helping me any more.”

“I don’t believe that,” Thomas said quietly. “There’s always more we can do.”

“What are you going to do, drag me through a burning city until I collapse?” Newt demanded.

“If that’s what it takes!” Thomas responded sharply.

“No,” Newt repeated. “It’s not going to happen.”

“Look,” Minho said, “we risked our asses to come here and bring you home. WCKD might still kill us.”

“That sounds like your problem. I’m staying here.” Newt gestured to the compound filled with the infected of every stage. “This is where I belong now. Goodbye.”


	15. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo takes Julia under her wing after the death of Quentin, vowing to teach the ex-possibly-still-a-goddess hedgewitch every trick she knows.

Julia wasn’t sure what she should have expected when Margo offered to help teach her magic, so it was with much trepidation that the ex-goddess allowed the former High King to try and help her learn.

Margo was currently pouring Julia a drink, under the watchful “I’m not judging you!” eye of Eliot.

“I don’t see what drinking has to do with being able to do magic,” Julia mused.

“Oh,” Eliot said. “Absolutely nothing. A good drink--less whiskey, Margo, honestly, we want her buzzed, not passed out on the couch--just makes it more exciting, don’t you think?”

Margo curled her lip and set the whiskey down. “Fine then. Here’s your drink.”

“I guess so,” Julia said. She accepted the glass from Margo and took a sip. It needed more whiskey. Margo saw the look in her eyes and laughed softly.

“So I thought we’d start with something simple,” Margo announced. “It’s pretty easy.” She lifted her hands and held them palms together, fingers facing out. She then curled her fingers inward, drawing her hands into fists briefly before pressing the backs of her hands together, fingers pointed towards her sternum. She brought her hands into fists again, starting with her pointer fingers and ending with her pinkys. She uncurled her fingers in reverse, then pressed the fingers of her right hand together while curling her left hand into a fist in the palm of her right hand. She briefly curled her fingers on her right hand down, then dropped her left hand. When she uncurled the fingers of her right hand, tiny fireworks shot out from her fingertips and burst in the air.

Julia gasped. “He learned that from you?” she asked, eyes sparkling.

“Q showed this to you?” Margo asked softly, her own eyes watering at the thought.

Julia nodded.

“That was his favorite party trick,” Margo said, dabbing at her eyes. Next to her, Eliot sniffled and hid his face behind his glass. “Go ahead, try it.”

Julia narrowed his eyes and repeated the movements that Margo had done. It didn’t work. “Damn it!”

“Try again,” Eliot suggested.

“No shit,” Julia said hotly. She repeated the movements again. Still, nothing happened. Julia frowned and tried again, and again, and again. The more she tried and failed, the angrier she felt herself becoming.

“Take a deep breath,” Eliot said. “You’ve got this, hedge.”

Julia glowered at Eliot, but took his advice. She inhaled deeply, counted to five, exhaled, and tried again, this time focusing on anything but the desperate need to do the spell. Quentin’s face sprang to mind, unbidden. The burning fire in his eyes when he’d shown her the spell, the only time she’d seen him do magic until they’d been in Fillory, the only time he’d been honest with her until then. The need in his eyes to believe that magic was real, that he meant something, that he mattered, that he could do something besides be smart. Julia felt like her heart was going to break out of her ribcage as the pain of losing Quentin squeezed all around her. She hardly noticed the careful and deliberate movements of her fingers until she heard the tiny crackling of the fireworks.

“ **That’s what I’m talking about!** ” Margo cheered, jumping up and doing a little jig. “You’ve still got it, girl!”

Julia beamed, her left hand coming up to cover the quivering of her lip as she watched the fireworks in the air in front of her. Yeah, she still had it. Quentin would be proud.


	16. “Listen. No, really listen.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gives Harry a stern talking to about why he thinks he should always go things alone.

Harry was in another one of his moods, pacing about one of the drawing rooms in Grimmauld Place and muttering about how he was alone in this fight, always alone. Sirius and Remus had tried more than once to talk to him and get him to focus on enjoying the present, but the solitude of the drawing room always drew him back.

Hermione stood in shadows in the doorway, watching Harry pace back and forth, hands curled into loose fists at his side. “Harry?” she asked cautiously.

Harry ceased in his pacing and glanced up at her. “What?” he responded, rather coldly.

Hermione just managed to not flinch at the sound of her friend’s voice. “I think we should have a talk,” she suggested.

“A talk,” Harry snorted. “Right. Are you going to try and convince me of the positives in life, too?”

“No,” Hermione said.

Harry stared at her blankly.

“Sit down,” Hermione said, and it was an order more than a suggestion. “I want you to listen to me.”

Harry followed Hermione to the armchairs and sank into one, scowling at her.

“You don’t have to be in this alone.”

“I already am.”

“No, Harry, you’re not, because you have all of us with you. You know that,” Hermione countered.

“Just because you all support me doesn’t mean this isn’t ultimately my fight,” Harry insisted, his scowl growing. “I’m not going to let any of you die for me. It’s easier if I do this alone.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Harry. “That’s not true, and you know it,” she snapped. Harry opened his mouth to argue, but she continued hotly. “You listen to me, Harry.  **Listen. No, really listen. ** None of us are going to let you go through this alone, no matter how much you want us to. We are your friends. We’re your bloody family, and that means you’re stuck with us. For good. You are not going to go through this alone because none of us are going to allow that. We care about you for better or for worse, and that is not going to change just because you think you can push us away in some dim-witted attempt to protect us, okay?”

Harry blinked, opening and closing his mouth as he looked for something to say in response, but he was drawing a blank. Hermione’s words had thrown him for a loop, and he was no longer in the familiar rut of crippling paranoia and need to prove himself to everyone around him. “Okay,” he said, settling on this as a happy medium for now. “Okay.”


	17. “There is just something about them/her/him.”

“I don’t understand what you see in him,” Margo hummed, flopping down on Eliot’s bed. “He’s awkward and weird.”

“We were awkward and weird.” Eliot sank into the bed, too, sitting carefully and crossing his legs.

“We grew out of it.”

“He will too,” Eliot assured.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“He will,” Eliot said again. “It’s not like he’s going to die before graduation or anything.”

“No, but he might get stupid and get kicked out, or fail out, or drop out….”

“Shut up,” Eliot complained. “ **There’s just something about him.** Quentin just feels...right.”

Margo flipped onto her side and stared at Eliot curiously. “He feels right?”

“Yeah.” Eliot frowned. “I don’t know what it is, but it feels like we were always meant to meet, you know? Like all the choices I made were always leading me here.”

“To Quentin?”

“Well, when you say it like that….”

“Don’t tell me you’re talking about soulmate shit, El,” Margo said. “I thought you were better than that.” She narrowed her eyes and twisted her upper lip up in scorn.

“I don’t,” Eliot insisted. “I just believe that maybe things aren’t always in our control, and I think this is one of them.”

Margo groaned. “Fine,” she agreed. “We’ll take Quentin under our wing. If it gets fucked up, though, that’s on you. Deal?”

Eliot beamed. “Deal.”


	18. “Secrets? I love secrets.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night of drunk truth or dare leads to interesting confessions.

Sonya and Harriet stood impatiently outside the apartment door, waiting for Teresa and Brenda to answer.

“They need to hurry up,” Sonya complained. “It’s cold.” She dragged out the word cold and frowned deeply.

“You’re in, like, five layers of jackets,” Harriet said. “Stop complaining, and maybe offer your bestest friend in the whole world one of your jackets?”

“No,” Sonya laughed. “You made the choice to walk all the way to the campus apartments in sweatpants and a tank top in the middle of a storm, you live with that choice.”

“You suck.” Harriet stuck her tongue out at Sonya just as the door swung open.

“Good evening, ladies,” Brenda drawled. She had a fleece blanket thrown over her shoulders.

“Hi, Brenda.”

“Are you ready for a spectacular night of drinking, games, and drinking games?” Brenda opened the blanket and swept it around her for dramatic effect.

“Very ready,” Harriet said.

“Good,” Teresa said, appearing over Brenda’s shoulder. “Because drinks are ready!”

The four girls stepped into the entryway, allowing the door to shut behind them.

“Do you think we’ll finally get them to admit how they feel about each other?” Sonya whispered to Harriet as they followed Teresa and Brenda to their living room.

“I hope so,” Harriet whispered back. “Woah,” she said, loud enough for the two older girls to hear.

“You like?” Brenda asked. She and Teresa had shoved their furniture against the walls and covered the floor with blankets and pillows. The room was illuminated solely by fairy lights, strung up haphazardly on the ceiling. There was a pile of snacks in the center of the floor, and a stack of games and movies. The coffee table, pushed up beneath the windows, was stacked with cups, bottles, and four full glasses that looked pink in the light.

“Cosmos,” Teresa supplied, guessing at the curious look in Sonya’s eye. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” the other three agreed. They sat on the floor in a lopsided circle, and Teresa handed out the drinks.

Three drinks, four hours, a movie, most of the snacks, pizza delivery, and two board games into their night, the four girls were running short on ideas.

“Let’s play truth or dare,” Sonya suggested, grinning lazily, her eyes lidded, leaning against Brenda.

“No,” Teresa groaned. “That’s such a middle school thing!”

“It could be fun,” Brenda argued.

“Absolutely not!” Teresa said, flopping back onto the floor and hugging a pillow to her chest. “We aren’t thirteen!”

“Aw, Tee, come on,” Harriet pleaded. “It’s three against one, anyways. Please?”

Teresa groaned. “Fine, but no secrets this time, okay?”

“ **Secrets?** ” Brenda grinned. “ **I love secrets.** Let’s tell each other our deepest, darkest secrets!”

“After truth or dare,” Sonya laughed.

“Promise?” Brenda asked.

“Promise,” Sonya said.

“Okay, me first!” Harriet declared. “Teresa, truth or dare?”

“Ugh.” Teresa buried her face in the pillow. “Truth.”

Harriet grinned, sneaking a glance at Sonya. “Is there someone you like?”

“I like you,” Teresa said immediately. “I like all of you!” She threw her hands up in the air, laughing. “You’re my friends for a reason.”

“No, I mean do you have feelings for someone, Tee,” Harriet laughed.

“Maybe,” Teresa said. “Sonya, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Sonya said.

“I dare you to call your brother and tell him you’re pregnant.”

Harriet and Sonya both burst into laughter.

“Okay.” Sonya pulled out her phone and dialed her brother’s number, putting it on speaker.

“Hello?” Newt’s voice drifted through the phone speaker.

“Hey, Newtie,” Sonya said.

“Sonya? What’s up?”

“Newt, I need to tell you something.”

“Okay…?”

“Newt,” Sonya said, covering her hand with her mouth to quiet her giggling, “I’m pregnant.”

There was dead silence on the other end for a minute. “Very funny, Sonya,” Newt groaned. “Hilarious.”

“Aw, Newtie,” Sonya pouted. “That’s it?”

“Sonya, you’re gay as hell. It’s going to be pretty difficult for you to accidentally get pregnant.”

“Boo,” Sonya said, hanging up while the other girls laughed. “Brenda, truth or dare?”

“Hmm,” Brenda hummed. “Truth.”

“Do you or do you not watch Christmas movies year round?”

Brenda blushed. “I do.”

“That’s adorable,” Teresa said, voice muffled by the pillow she’d buried her face back into.

“Uh-huh. Harriet, truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to run outside without your shirt and check the mail,” Brenda said.

Harriet groaned. “Seriously?”

Brenda nodded, grinning. “Deadly.”

“If I get sick, you’re buying me meds,” Harriet said, stripping off her shirt and disappearing down the hallway.

“Oh my god, she’s actually doing it,” Sonya laughed.

When Harriet returned, she scowled and threw a pillow at Brenda. “That was awful,” she groaned, slipping her shirt back on.

Brenda just giggled.

“Teresa,” Harriet said, turning her attention to the girl. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Teresa ventured.

Harriet grinned. “I dare you to call your crush.”

Teresa shot up from her position on the floor. “What?”

“Call your crush,” Harriet repeated.

“No,” Teresa said. “No way.”

“You wanna pick truth instead?”

“No,” Teresa groaned.

“Then call your crush,” Harriet said.

Teresa groaned and dug her phone out of her pocket. She dialed a number and sat staring at the screen, waiting.

Brenda’s phone started ringing.


	19. “Yes, I admit it, you were right.”

Quentin sighed and dropped his head into his hands, wishing he had the power to shut out Penny’s voice. “Can you shut up, man?”

“I thought you’d know at this point that I’m incapable.” Penny grinned at Quentin over the stack of paperwork on the desk. “I told you this was a bad idea.”

Quentin groaned. “I really hate you.”

“And yet, you’re the one who decided to be stuck working with me for the rest of eternity.”

“A mistake I’m already regretting,” Quentin said. He picked his head up and stared mournfully at the paperwork. He reached for the pen on the desk and started to fill out the forms.

“Just say I was right. You should have moved on, man.”

“Ugh,” Quentin sighed. “ **Yes, I admit it, you were right. ** I should have accepted what happened and just moved on. Are you happy now?”

“No,” Penny admitted. “Not really.”

Looking up, Quentin saw the frown on Penny’s face and he started laughing.

“Shut up,” Penny said.

“I don’t think I will,” Quentin countered, still laughing.


	20. “You could talk about it, you know?”

Thomas sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the cliff, staring vacantly out to the horizon. The wind was calm today. He hardly noticed it on the bottoms of his feet. From this point in the Safe Haven, he could see everything.

He could see the people he’d started to call family milling about on the beach and in the huts and cabins they’d started to call home. He could see smoke from the fire and Frypan cooking over open flames. He could see the ocean, the waves crashing onto the sand, rocking the boat moored to the dock. He could see the sun as it dipped towards the horizon, slowly draining the sky of color and casting the world in a golden glow. He could see the memorial rock. And if he looked carefully--or not carefully at all, for he knew if he cared to really study what his brain said was there, the truth would come crashing back down around him again--he could see Newt, working on the gardens where the ground went from sand to dirt perfect for growing food.

“You’re up here again?”

Thomas flinched as Minho’s voice interrupted his carefully constructed lack of thought.

“That’s the third time this week, man.” Minho joined Thomas on the edge of the cliff. “Are you okay?”

Thomas didn’t answer. Minho knew what he was feeling, anyways. Minho seemed to have adopted Newt’s sixth sense about how Thomas was feeling after Newt died.

“Do you want to….” Minho paused, turning his gaze to stare at Thomas. “ **You could talk about it, you know?** ”

“What is there to talk about?” Thomas asked softly, not tearing his gaze from the ocean. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He never wanted to have it. He would never be ready.

“I don’t know,” Minho said hotly, “maybe the fact that you come up here far too often?”

“Maybe I want to know how it feels to be up so high that all it would take is one more step and everything would really come rushing up at me,” Thomas snapped, still not looking at Minho.

“So that’s it? You want to join Newt, reunited in death?”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

“Yes, Thomas! Yes, it would!” Minho said. “Dying won’t solve anything for anyone.”

“It sure seemed to solve a lot for him.”

The sharp inhale from Minho finally got Thomas to look at his friend. “Don’t you ever say that,” Minho hissed. “You don’t--you don’t know how much he--you don’t know.”

“I know how he felt,” Thomas disagreed, overcome by the urge to fight Minho on this. Minho was a safe outlet for his crippling anger and guilt. “I get it now, why it was so easy for him to let go. Gravity is a far less painful force than the weight of everything else pressing me down. I understand it.”

“And you want the same thing?” Minho shouted.

“Maybe I do!” Thomas shouted back. “Maybe I want to die! It should have been me!”

Minho’s face darkened, but when he spoke, his tone was suddenly and disarmingly soft. “No, it shouldn’t have been. It should have been me.”

Thomas stared at Minho.

“You should never have come for me.”

“I made you a promise,” Thomas argued.

“Your promise got Newt killed.”

“So you blame me?”

“No,” Minho said. “That’s the worst part. I could blame you. I want to blame you. I could blame myself. But instead, I blame him.”

Thomas was silent.

“I hate him so much sometimes, you know? I get so mad at him. How could he do what he did? He knew what he was going to do, knew he was going to die saving me, and he did it anyways, to repay some debt he was convinced he owed me.”

“It’s not fair,” Thomas said, his voice thick.

“No, it’s not,” Minho agreed. “But you know what?”

“What?”

“Talking about it helps. Really.”


	21. “Change is annoyingly difficult.”

Julia groaned and tossed her head back. “We’re never going to get this right,” she said, staring at Alice.

“We will,” Alice insisted. “Think of it this way--we don’t really have another choice.”

Julia squinted at Alice. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s really helping.”

“What will help?”

“A break?” Julia suggested. “We’ve been at this for hours. I don’t think I can see straight any more.”

Alice closed the book with a sigh. “What do you suggest we do?”

“Magic,” Julia deadpanned.

“Oh, you’ve got jokes,” Alice said, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t realize you had a sense of humor.”

“Didn’t think you had one either,” Julia responded.

Alice groaned.

“I’m going to order a pizza,” Julia decided. “You in?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

Julia grabbed her laptop and pulled up the site, typing a few keywords before selecting the vegetarian pizza and ordering.

“So….” Alice began, but she cut herself off.

“Yeah?” Julia asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“It’s a totally inappropriate question, but what made you forgive Quentin? Because I’m still mad at him, sometimes.”

“You mean about him dying?” Julia wondered. “Because I don’t know when I will forgive him for that.”

“No, I mean about the things he did to you. You know, before,” Alice clarified. “He told me about it.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, it’s totally out of line. Forget I asked,” Alice said.

“No, it’s fine,” Julia said. “Honestly, I don’t remember what it was that made me forgive him. I think that’s for the better, because I got to spend time with him that otherwise we never would have had. But I never forgot what he did. I just learned to live with it, I guess, because he was Quentin, and we both did pretty shitty things to each other. I suppose we both changed.”

“ **Change is...annoyingly difficult,** ” Alice sighed. “I keep thinking that I’ve changed, but then I realize I never did.”

“You’re here,” Julia responded. “I think that’s a big change.”

Alice laughed. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am. You just need to believe in yourself more.”


	22. “We could have a chance.”

It was the midst of the eighth year for the seventh years who survived the war, early in the fall. The sun was out for once, shining brightly over the Hogwarts grounds. Most of the eighth years were outside, soaking up the rays before the sun disappeared completely in the coming winter.

Hermione was sitting at the edge of the lake, a book in her lap. Sometimes she missed the quiet of being on the run. She knew it was a trauma response formed during the war, knew that if she were to actually spend a minute in real silence she would tense up and panic, but she still missed the feeling of peace it gave her to be alone, and so she found herself spending any time she could get alone on the grounds.

The only trouble was, everyone in the school seemed intent on seeing that she never had a moment to herself. She was a war hero, and that made finding time to not speak to anyone impossible. If it wasn’t fellow eighth years coming up to her and fawning over what she’d done the previous year, it was first and second years coming up to her, trembling, and asking her all sorts of questions.

“Can I sit here?” Case in point, Draco Malfoy had just flopped to the ground next to her, disregarding the book she now held up to her face as closely as she could while keeping the text in focus.

“No,” she responded. “You can, in fact, screw right off and sit somewhere else.”

“Straight to the point as always, Granger.”

“I can show you another point,” Hermione threatened, “that will make sure you leave.”

“Touchy.”

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

“I just... **we could have a chance.** ”

“I beg your pardon?” Hermione dropped her book to her lap and stared at Draco in shock.

“I--look, I know you’re with Weasley, and I respect that, but I always thought that if I hadn’t screwed everything up so royally our first year, that maybe we could have at least been friends.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m trying to say that I’m sorry,” Draco admitted. “I did a lot of terrible things, and said a lot of absolutely unforgivable things, and no amount of apologizing will ever make up for it, but I’m sorry. And if you’d be willing, I’d like to talk more.”

Hermione scrutinized Draco, her gaze fiery. “And why exactly should any of us forgive you?”

“You shouldn’t, and I wouldn’t blame you. But I hope that you’ll at least try.”


	23. “You can’t give more than yourself.”

“How long have you known?” Thomas asked, sinking to his knees as the weight of what Newt was showing him overwhelmed him.

“A while now,” Newt admitted. “I guess I just couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge it. WCKD must have needed me in the Maze for a reason though, right? Even if it was just to tell the difference between the infected and the immune.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t like that,” Thomas said quietly.

“You can’t really know that.”

“No, but I can believe it.”

Newt sighed. “It doesn’t really matter. Minho’s what matters, okay?”

“Newt, you can’t mean that.” Thomas eyed Newt in surprise. “You’re sick. We need to get you the serum.”

“No, Tommy, listen, you don’t understand. I owe Minho a debt. This is how I can repay it,” Newt said.

“At the cost of your own life?” Thomas snapped. “I don’t think so. We’ll regroup, figure out a better way to get Minho out without you risking your health and safety. Without you dying to save him. You know that’s not what Minho would want.”

“Minho comes first.” Newt crossed his arms and stared up at the wall WCKD had built around the Last City. “I owe him that.”

“ **You can’t give more than yourself,** ” Thomas said, allowing himself to sit on the edge of the roof with Newt. “I won’t let you do that. I won’t let you drive this virus further than it needs to go just to save Minho. I won’t let you die for him.”

“Why not? You’re willing to.”

“And you and Frypan came with me to make sure that wouldn’t happen.” Thomas rolled his eyes. “So now I’m returning the favor. You aren’t going to do anything to risk your life any more than you already have.”

Newt groaned. “Thomas--”

“The answer is no, Newt, and that’s final. I won’t let you give your life for this.”


	24. “Patience… is not something I’m known for.”

Harry struggled against the rope binding him to Tom Riddle’s gravestone again, though he knew it was futile. This partially Wormtail’s plan, which meant that until he had his wand and ability to move back, Harry was stuck listening to Voldemort monologue.

“And so, you see,” Voldemort was saying, pacing around the circle of Death Eaters he had summoned, “the love of a mother was my untimely undoing. I tried, I admit, to be patient for 13 long years. But  **patience...is not something I am known for. ** I tried and failed to return to my body sooner.”

The Death Eaters around the circle shivered.

“I have returned now, though, and it is time to see whose loyalty has stood the test of time,” Voldemort said. “Thirteen long years, and tonight, we will finally rise victorious from the ashes, and Harry Potter shall be gone.”

“But my Lord,” one of the still masked Death Eaters risked asking, “if we kill the boy, then surely the world will know that you’re back. How are we to keep your return a secret?”

Voldemort smiling was an image that Harry would never be able to banish from his memories. He shuddered.

“That is the perfect part,” Voldemort explained. “I will take his place. Polyjuice potion requires a living counterpart. The boy will not be dead, just replaced. It will be difficult, no doubt, to play the part of a boy hero, but it is a part I must play. Wormtail, if you would?”

And suddenly Harry understood all too well what the plan was, and he knew that there was no escape from this.


	25. “I could really eat something.”

“I’m starved,” Eliot mentioned, dropping the book he was reading and sitting up from his relaxed position on the couch.

“Seriously?” Margo asked. “You like, just ate.”

“And then I had a cig, and then a couple of drinks. I’m hungry,” Eliot whined.

“Do something about it, then,” Margo suggested.

Eliot groaned and laid back down on the couch.

“No, Eliot’s right,  **I could really eat something,** ” Kady said. She stood up and started to move towards the door. “I’ll bring something back.”

“Really?” Eliot shot right back up, beaming at Kady. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, man, fuck it.”

“You are my hero,” Eliot declared. “I love you.”

Kady snorted. She turned to look at Alice and Margo. “You guys want anything?”

“Sure, what the hell,” Margo said.

“I’m good. Thanks, though,” Alice replied.

“You positive?” Kady asked.

Alice nodded.

“Not even bacon?” Eliot asked.

“Really, no,” Alice insisted.

The other three were silent for a moment.

“I’ve hardly seen you eat since Quentin died,” Kady said finally. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Alice crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat. “Really.”

Margo scoffed. “Sure, and I don’t have a drinking problem.”

Eliot hastily turned his snort into a cough.

“It’s really nothing,” Alice insisted. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Maybe we don’t,” Kady said, not one for dancing around the point, “but an illness is an illness. We all have our ways of coping, but starving yourself isn’t healthy, and we all know it’s not what Quentin would want.”


	26. “You keep me warm.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but I really appreciate you being my friend,” Harry said quietly as he and Hermione walked down the snowy path of Godric’s Hollow. 

It had been almost a year to the date since they had last been here, and Harry had insisted on coming back. He wanted to appreciate Godric’s Hollow without the looming threat of Voldemort killing him or Death Eaters attacking him. He wanted to, not that he would admit it, even though he was sure Hermione already knew, bring something back to the house his parents had died in. He’d managed, with much convincing and some outright begging, to obtain Sirius and Remus’ wands.

There was no doubt in his mind that much like the house, his parent’s wands were lying where they’d been left, a testament to how bravely they stood up against Voldemort a third and final time. It seemed only fitting that the wands of their two best friends who had died along the way to Voldemort’s defeat be in the same place.

“Harry,” Hermione replied.

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

Harry considered the question for a moment. “I don’t really care,” he responded. “It feels like the right thing to do.”

“And that always comes first,” Hermione sighed. She drew her coat closer around her. “Did we have to come here in the dead of winter, though?”

“Think of it as an early Christmas present.” Harry reached into his pocket and felt for the wands again, feeling their reassuring weight in his palm. He shivered slightly and regretted not wearing his scarf.

Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled out her own wand, mouthing the words for a quick charm. The air around them seemed to move in lazy waves as the warmth charm took effect.

“Thanks,” Harry said. “ **You keep me warm, ** you know.” His smirk suggested that this was his attempt at trying to flirt with his best friend.

“Shut up,” Hermione returned.

Harry laughed softly, hand reaching out automatically for the gate of the cottage as they approached it, treading carefully on the icy ground.


	27. “Can you wait for me?”

Newt knew that this reconnaissance mission needed his help, but he couldn’t keep up. His leg had been bothering him the colder it got, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it except hate that it was happening, hate the cold weather, hate the pain, hate that he couldn’t just sleep through hate. He especially hated that it was his own damn fault. If he just hadn’t been stupid and tried to kill himself in the Maze, he wouldn’t have broken his leg, wouldn’t be feeling this pain flare up, wouldn’t be holding up Thomas and the others on this trip out to spy on WCKD, wouldn’t be the reason they took longer to rescue Minho.

“You okay, Newt?” Frypan asked, coming up to him. He must have backtracked when he realized Newt had fallen behind.

“I’m fine,” Newt said, seeing Thomas come up behind Frypan. He felt a sudden surge of hatred for his friends, too. They needed to learn that he wanted to be left alone sometimes. “Just need a minute to catch my breath.”

“Okay.” Frypan shrugged helplessly at Thomas, who eyed Newt curiously.

Newt managed to school his expression so he wasn’t glaring at the two of them, but the hot surge of annoyance on top of all the anger brewing inside got him moving again, despite the shooting pain in his leg. He jogged past Frypan and Thomas to rejoin the group. They still had a long trek ahead of them to the dead zone that WCKD was supposedly working out of.

He couldn’t tell if it had been minutes or hours since he’d first stopped for a brief moment, but the pain had gone from a shooting pain to a dull throbbing he’d been able to ignore for long enough that Newt had almost forgotten about it. In that moment, though, the pain doubled, forcing Newt to drop to his knees, hissing with pain.

“Wait,” he called weakly, raising an arm and reaching out to the group in a silent plea. His voice cracked with the effort of keeping his pain to himself. “Please….”

“Newt?” Thomas and Frypan must have stayed behind him since the first time. Newt cursed himself for not realizing this. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Newt shook his head, heaving one breath after the other. “ **Can you wait for me? ** Please?” He managed to get this out in a whisper. “I just--it’s my leg. I can’t.”

Frypan’s eyes widened. “Of course, man.” He dropped down next to Newt and offered the older boy his water.

“You should have said something sooner,” Thomas scolded, joining the other two on the ground.

Newt groaned at Thomas, but otherwise could say nothing, focused only on breathing through the pain. A new feeling was beginning to burn away at the anger, though, a lighter feeling. Watching Thomas and Frypan goof around while they waited for Newt to recover enough to continue on made him smile. They may be one short, but they were his family. They made him happy.


	28. “Enough! I heard enough.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Implied self harm trigger warning, implied past abuse trigger warning

Harry wasn’t quite sure how to react when Sirius grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the tapestry room of Grimmauld Place. He’d been trying his hardest since his nightmare about the attack on Mr. Weasley to keep himself away from the others, and in turn had gone back to old habits. He hadn’t thought anyone had noticed. He’d convinced himself that no one had noticed, that no one had cared. But given the careful way in which Sirius maneuvered Harry through the halls, Harry suspected that he’d been wrong. Someone had noticed, and someone had told Sirius.

Sirius shut the door to the tapestry room behind them and dropped Harry’s arm, turning to face his godson.

“Er….” Harry tried and failed to say something that would alleviate the sudden tense feeling in the air.

“How long?” Sirius asked, staring at Harry with an unreadable expression, and that was that. There was no more running from this conversation.

“Who told you?” Harry countered, asking the one question he hoped would at least delay the now inevitable.

Sirius shook his head. “No, you’re answering my questions first. How long have you been hurting yourself?”

Harry swallowed thickly. “I only started again after the dream.”

“Again?” Sirius said, his tone taking on a sharp edge.

“I stopped almost two years ago.” Harry started toying with the edge of his sleeve, a nervous habit from years of trying to keep his secret. He couldn’t look Sirius in the eyes.

“And you what, you started again because you blame yourself for what happened to Arthur?”

“Something like that,” Harry mumbled.

“Look at me, Harry,” Sirius said. “Why did you start in the first place?”

“That’s--I don’t know.” Even if Sirius had found out about this, Harry still had secrets he was determined to keep.

“Bullshit. Why did you start?”

“I….” Harry sucked in a deep breath. “My aunt and uncle aren’t kind people,” he said delicately, hoping that Sirius would get the message.

Sirius took a step back as this registered with him, and his eyes widened. “Harry….”

“It doesn’t really matter, I’m over it,” Harry said quickly. “It’s not important, anyhow. I don’t need help, if that’s what you’re here to offer. I stopped once, I can stop again, and whoever told you needs to hear that, too, so if you could just tell me--”

Sirius cut Harry off. “ **Enough!** ” he said, holding out his hands to placate Harry. “ **I heard enough. ** Harry,” he continued, his voice softer now, “it is important. Of course it’s important. Anything that has made you feel like causing yourself pain is the only way to fix it is important, because it needs to be fixed so that you don’t have to resort to...this.” He gestured to Harry’s arms. “So please, let me help, okay?”

“Who told you?” Harry asked again, ignoring the last thing Sirius had said.

“No one needed to tell me,” Sirius said. “You don’t need someone to tell you when you know what it looks like.”

“You--you did it, too?” Harry tried to keep his voice from cracking, but it still came out sounding strained. Sirius nodded, and that was all it took for Harry to nod in agreement. “Please help me,” he whispered.


	29. “I’m doing this for you.”

Eliot was holed up in his room as he had been since he’d woken up to Margo sitting at the foot of his bed in the hospital wing, playing with the frayed edges of the bedsheet.

“Eliot,” Margo had said, unable to look him in the eye. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

“Your tone suggests otherwise,” Eliot had croaked. “What happened? What’s wrong? Did something happen with the monster? Oh god, is it still inside me?”

“El,” Margo had said, voice cracking, “no. Oh, Eliot, I’m sorry, no. It’s Quentin.”

And Eliot had known, had seen it in her eyes and heard it in the silence between her words. “No,” he’d whispered.

“I’m so sorry,” Margo had repeated, her own voice small.

The death of Quentin had hit Eliot hard, and he’d tried everything he could think of to cope. Booze, drugs, throwing himself at other people for sex, staying in bed and watching the same episodes of some childish cartoon on Netflix, staying in bed and sleeping--he’d tried all of it. Nothing helped. And so it was, in an act of absolute desperation, as it was nearing Halloween, that Eliot decided to try and contact Quentin. It was doable, but Quentin had to want to be contacted. That was the hard part, Eliot figured. The magic would be easy. He carried enough pain around these days that he could do this in his sleep.

Biting his lip to focus, Eliot dragged the blade over his palm and allowed three drops to fall into the bowl in his lap. 

“Okay, Q,” he said softly, “ **I’m doing this for you, ** so the least you could do is cooperate and talk to me, yeah?”

The bowl began to smoke, and Eliot twisted his fingers in a complicated pattern he’d found in the book spread open in front of him. “ Loquor spiritus,” he said, and the smoke formed a ring before fading from sight.

If Quentin responded, the ring would reappear, with a grainy image of his face inside of it, sort of like a window into the Underworld. If it didn’t work--well, Eliot couldn’t stand to think of that. It had to work.

Eliot lost track of how long he sat there, but it was long enough that when he finally stood to rinse the bowl and cleanse it properly, he stumbled on numb legs. He hit the ground, knees first, and the bowl clattered to the floor, rolling to a stop under his bed and leaving droplets of blood on the carpet. The reality of Quentin being gone, properly gone, hit Eliot, and what little strength he had left him. He curled up on the floor, digging his hands into the jacket he’d taken from Quentin’s things, and cried.


	30. “I’m with you, you know that.”

Thomas struggled with doubt. He knew he did, and he knew it was a problem, because if the others looked up to him to be the leader of the group and know the plan and he doubted in himself, it would only put the others in danger. He couldn’t afford that, not again. The last time he’d doubted himself, Minho had ended up in the back of a Berg, and Thomas wasn’t sure if he would ever see Minho again.

The only problem with knowing that he struggled with doubting himself was that Thomas couldn’t actually do anything to stop it. He just had the heightened ability to recognize that he was doubting himself, and it made things that much worse. Once he realized that he was doubting himself, Thomas started to think about everything else he’d ever done wrong, no matter how minor, and from there things spiralled until all hope was lost.

It was, all things considered, a miracle they’d only lost Minho. And Sonya, and Aris, and all the other kids, but Minho was the primary concern, at least for Thomas and Newt.

“What am I supposed to do?” Thomas muttered to himself, head in his hands. He was the only one still up in the camp, or at least he thought he was.

“I don’t think I have the answers you’re looking for,” Newt said, plopping down next to Thomas, picking up a stick and poking at the dying embers of the fire. “But right now, I think you should take a moment to get out of your head, breathe, and then go to sleep. You’re no good to anyone when you’re stressed out and tired.”

Thomas groaned. “I don’t recall asking you,” he replied.

“Hmm,” Newt hummed. “Maybe not. But I’m telling you anyways.”

“What if we fail?” Thomas asked after a moment, taking Newt’s companionable silence as an invitation. “What if we don’t get him back? What if all of this is for nothing?”

“Then we try again. And again, and again, as many times as it takes for us to get him back. To get them all back. Failing just means that we learn what not to do,” Newt said.

Thomas groaned. “God, this is such a stupid plan.”

“Hey, stop that. We’re all with you. We succeed or we fail together, Thomas.” Newt put a hand on Thomas’s shoulder, but Thomas shook it off.

“I don’t know why you bother. I just bring disaster wherever I go. Gally was right.”

“Hey,” Newt said again, a little sharply. “ **I’m with you, you know that.** Until the end of the line. We started this together, and we’re damn well going to finish it that way, too. All three of us. So just let yourself believe that this will work, just for a minute, okay?”

“Even though it’s absolutely insane?” Thomas asked.

“I never said anything about this being a sane idea,” Newt replied. “But it might just work, okay? I promise, Tommy. We’re going to get him back.”


	31. “Scared, me?”

“I wish you’d told me how you--how you hurt your leg sooner,” Thomas said, swinging his legs over the edge of the decrepit roof and joining Newt to watch the sunset over the wall that was guarding the Last City.

“I think I wish that I’d done that, too,” Newt admitted. He toyed with the edge of his sleeve, torn between wanting to pull it back down to cover the slightly inky veins that were beginning to pop out of his wrist and wanting to keep it up. It was something of a relief to have Thomas know all of this--everything that Newt could remember about himself. The jump, the sickness, the hatred and hurt, all of it. Some part of Newt couldn’t help but feel like if he really was going to die, it was better to leave nothing unsaid in some way, especially with Thomas. This was part of the reason for the capsule that now hung around his neck, fastened tightly to ensure that the letter he’d written wouldn’t be lost. If Newt knew he wasn’t going to make it out of the Last City, he’d make Thomas take it. If Newt did make it, well…. Maybe some things were easier to say in a letter, but he imagined that he’d have the courage to force the words out if he read them directly from the page.

“We’re going to get him back,” Thomas said.

“I know we are.”

“And we’re going to make sure you’re okay.” It was a statement and a promise. Thomas wasn’t going to let anything happen to Newt, not if his life depended on it.

“I don’t think that’s something you can control anymore, Tommy,” Newt cautioned softly.

“I’ll do my damn best to try,” Thomas snapped. “Sorry.”

Newt waved his hand. It was nothing next to pinning Thomas to a wall to yell at him over Teresa.

“Are you scared?” Thomas asked suddenly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Because I am.”

“ **Scared, me?** ” Newt asked. “Psh. Of course I’m scared. Bloody terrified, really. This is WCKD we’re going up against, in their home territory. We don’t stand a chance.”

Thomas laughed. “I didn’t think we did.”

“Yeah, but we wouldn’t be who we are if we didn’t try, would we?”

Thomas hummed. “I suppose not. Just--I can’t lose any of you.”

“I can’t either,” Newt said. “So as long as we promise not to lose each other, I think things will work out. I can make that promise.”

“Can you?” Thomas motioned to the lines of black blood spreading up Newt’s arm. “The virus that’s making you sick might have something to say about that.”

“I’m making the promise anyways.” Newt turned to face Thomas, his eyes bright and sharp. He needed to make sure that Thomas understood that even if he died, he wouldn’t be lost. “I promise that you will never lose me, Tommy.”

Thomas met Newt’s gaze and saw something in his face that made him want to believe, for a moment, that maybe he could save everyone if he just tried hard enough. “I promise, too,” he said. “You’ll never lose me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my GOD we did it we reached the end of the 2019 Fictober event! Thank you so much for reading and thank you so much to the lovely event coordinator and host! This has been a fantastic journey. Here's to next year! <3


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